Orphans of the Wasteland
by WhoElseBut
Summary: OC, in the wasteland in the Fallout 3 universe. Very hard to do anything with in-game characters considering the nature of the game, but I will try my best to keep with the mood and the setting of the Fallout 3 and other Fallout games .


Disclaimer: All of the locations, characters, etc. except for OCs are property of Bethesda and are used here exclusively for fan fiction purposes. (aka they are not owned by me ;) )

It gets a little gruesome at parts so the rating is Mature for that. Also, some parts are semi-inspired by the Book of Eli and Metro 2033 as well.

**Prologue**

_**War, war never changes,**__ my dad used to tell me that every time. That was the story I heard almost every day before sleep. He told me of human thirst for power and how it usually grew into violence and conflict. He wanted me to avoid all that, but wasn't stupid enough not to train me to survive. After all, in the Wasteland it is not enough to live, you have to survive. _

_After dad passed I decided to leave the settlement. There were talks of other survivors, other settlements, caravans that passed by told of distant lands that had fresh water and were more 'civilized' than ours. Many people didn't believe them, but I listened, as a child I was gullible enough to believe. And so, one day, I joined one of the caravans, selling all I had left for a gun and ammo, as well as some food and signed up as a security guard of sorts. _

_Everything I knew was left behind, and the future was ahead of me. I just wish someone would warn me what I would run into. I thought ghouls and super mutants were the main threats out there. Humans do like conflict, and war, war never changes._

**XxXFallOutXxX**

"Get that one," the raiders screamed as they cornered one of the girls against the ruined walls. They came out of nowhere, coming down onto the caravan as the sun came up. Even in the Wasteland, the raiders preferred to stay in the light, avoiding the night like the plague. There were scarier things out there than human greed.

"The little brat punched me," the other one screamed as he chased after the caravan owner's daughter. Her grabbed her arm and pushed her against the wall, methodically ripping off her clothes and throwing her on the ground right after.

Peter felt the cold concrete against his back, pressing out as two more raiders were closing in. They put away their guns and had knives in their hands. The woman was grinning wickedly as if she was about to take advantage of him. Peter felt his gun behind his belt on his back. He was reaching for it slowly, not to tip off the attackers. He knew that he needed to be fast, otherwise he'd be dead. The girl's screaming from a distance made him uneasy, the raiders were finally getting their way with her.

"Scared, ain't ya?" the male attacker grinned with his knife hand extending forward. "Common, you little fucker, let's see what you're made of."

"Yeah," the woman added, "the caravans can never spring for proper security. It just gets boring after a while. Maybe you'll give us a challenge."

Peter wanted to say something but the words just got stuck in his throat. He didn't say anything though, scared and worried. He didn't want to die here, so far from the NY Wasteland, closer to the Capital according to the maps. His dad was right, humans were their own enemies, raiding, stealing, cheating, killing, it never changed.

This was it Peter thought, now or never. Otherwise, there was nothing else left to do, and staring death in the face people made some of the most rash decisions ever. Within seconds his pistol was out and he fired. The male raider fell on the ground, a gaping hole in his forehead. The woman paused for a second, just enough for a bullet to catch her too. More shots were fired and Peter assumed that the other raiders fell. The weird thing was he didn't remember taking more than one shot.

Without any time to consider the implications he quickly scrambled to where the girl was still crying. She was barely 16, scared and alone now. Her clothes were ripped to shreds and she was sitting on the ground, holding herself. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Peter bent down to see how she was doing, but the girl scrambled away, fear in her eyes.

"Don't worry…" he worked hard to remember her name, the little girl always travelled next to her father and spoke little. She was quiet and anyone barely realized she was there, "Amber. I'm not one of them, I'm the security worker for your dad… All good it did him."

The girl didn't say anything, just stared blankly into the night. Peter felt sorry, disappointed for not being able to protect the caravan. When he was leaving he thought he was ready for anything that was out there, he was wrong. Now he realized that they were dead anyways, trapped in the Wasteland with no idea with where they were. Even with the raiders dead there were deathclaws, mutants, and other enemies out there. Peter has not encountered a single one, and had no idea what to expect. They were as good as dead.

Those were the last thoughts before the warm butt of a hunting rifle connected with the back of his skull.


End file.
